


the places where we shared our secrets

by asael



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26217880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asael/pseuds/asael
Summary: After Dimitri's death, after the war is over, Dedue finds a new sense of purpose - in Duscur, in himself, in Claude.
Relationships: Dedue Molinaro/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 29
Kudos: 105





	the places where we shared our secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Dedue and I share a birthday, so I decided to write a self-indulgent rarepair for the both of us. This fic is a bit experimental & switches tenses deliberately, I hope it's still enjoyable!

“That smells amazing.”

Claude leans against the doorway into the kitchen, a smile on his lips. Dedue only allows himself to be distracted for a moment, glancing up from the fish he’s searing to catch a glimpse of that smile. 

“It will be ready soon,” he says. “I appreciate your patience.” He wanted to make something special for Claude’s last night in Duscur, something that will linger in his memory when he’s returned to Almyra. It’s a small thing, and perhaps sentimental, but Dedue has enjoyed doing it for some time now. In between visits, he takes note of recipes he’d like to attempt and tries a few trial runs until he’s perfected it.

Claude is always appreciative, and that is indeed flattering. Dedue is well aware that the King of Almyra has a battalion of accomplished cooks in his capital just waiting to create a dish that might please him, and the fact that Claude seems to prize his cooking despite that is - 

Well, it’s a boon to his ego, certainly.

“I can tell it’ll be worth waiting for,” Claude says. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Simply enjoy your evening, Claude,” Dedue says. “That would be very helpful.” They’ve had this conversation before. They will again, on Claude’s next visit. Dedue might let him help on other nights - Claude is not especially skilled in the kitchen, but will happily chop vegetables and chatter away, his gift for easy conversation filling the kitchen with life - but not tonight.

Tonight Dedue is indulging himself. And if that happens to look quite a bit as if he’s doting on Claude, well, he doesn’t mind that at all.

Claude grins at him and withdraws, returning to the comfortable chair by the fire he’d abandoned to peer in at Dedue. Dedue can see him from the kitchen if he leans back just a bit, and for a moment he does so, watching Claude curl up in the chair and wrap a blanket around himself before picking up the book he’s been poring over. He’s familiar with Dedue’s home, comfortable with it, and Dedue allows himself to marvel at that, at the strangeness of this place they’ve arrived at after so many years.

He can still remember the first time he truly looked at Claude.

  


* * *

  


The kitchen was usually quiet when Dedue was there. He knew, of course, that it was _because_ he was there, at least partially, but it didn’t bother him - at least, not any more than such things ever bothered him. His years in Fhirdiad, facing the hatred there, had made him understand the value of simply being left alone. Of course he did not enjoy that he was left alone for the same reason he’d been hated, but he would always choose one over the other if he had any choice.

Besides, he liked the quiet. He liked being able to forget the buzzing of the monastery outside and simply focus on the food, the act of creation and alteration that followed patterns he’d learned at his mother’s side so long ago. The simple acts of chopping, mixing, and checking the temperature and taste of his creations calmed his mind.

Which was why he did not realize Claude was there until he spoke.

“Wow, that smells amazing! Is that for dinner later?”

Shaken from his contemplation, Dedue raised his head to see Claude a few feet away. He was smiling, a familiar sight to anyone who attended the Academy. He followed Claude’s gaze to the pot of stew he’d been speaking of, and for a moment weighed the consequences of engaging in conversation with Claude. But it would be far ruder to ignore him, of course, and Claude did not deserve that.

“It is not. I have been allowed to use the kitchen to make dishes for myself, if I wish. I will not begin on tonight’s meal until later.” And that would be something simple, familiar to most of the students. Nothing like this, a dish from Duscur.

Claude looked at him then. Though his smiles were easy, his eyes were always too sharp. Dedue did not find it unsettling or suspicious, the way some did - he did not know Claude’s story, but he knew well how easily someone could look at you and jump to conclusions simply based on your appearance. He dealt with it by keeping to himself, serving his prince, staying quiet and polite. Claude dealt with it differently, but Dedue did not judge that. _Could_ not.

“I see you in here a lot, Dedue,” Claude said. “But you’re always alone.” He did not point out the obvious, which was that when Dedue was not at Dimitri’s side he was nearly always alone. “I’ve been wanting to learn more about cooking - can you imagine people think I get too creative? Anyway, books aren’t quite cutting it. Maybe I could keep you company sometimes, and you could show me a thing or two.”

Dedue was still kneeling next to one of the cupboards, where he’d been retrieving a pan. He had not risen yet, knowing that his height and bearing were enough to intimidate some no matter how polite he was. That meant that he needed to look up to meet Claude’s eyes, an odd sensation.

“It would be best if you were not seen to befriend me,” he said. Surely Claude knew that. Surely he knew what they said of the men of Duscur, and what they already said of Claude himself. He would be the next Duke Riegan, heading the Alliance. It would be foolish for him to sully his reputation.

Of all the responses that Dedue might have expected to his words, he did not expect the one he got. Claude laughed, his eyes crinkling up in what looked like real amusement.

“You think I care what they think?”

Yes, Dedue thought, though he didn’t say it. He could see it in every move Claude made, that he noticed eyes on him and that he did indeed care what they thought. But unlike Dedue, who responded to that scrutiny by holding himself apart, keeping himself quiet and correct, giving them as little as possible to criticize while knowing they would do it nonetheless - Claude went in the opposite direction.

He played into their fears, their distrust. He saw the way they weren’t sure what to make of him, and he smiled and talked about poisons and trickery until they accepted it at face value, papering over whatever truly lurked beneath.

Dedue did not know what that was. He was no different than the others in that way. His difference lay in knowing what Claude labored under, seeing how it had shaped him.

He was quiet for a long time. Claude watched him, eyes too keen. Dedue did not understand what Claude wanted from him. His loyalty was spoken for, unshakeable.

But Dimitri did not think poorly of Claude. Had never spoken of him as an enemy - only a curiosity.

“The kitchen does not belong to me,” Dedue said finally. It was enough of an answer. Claude brightened, smiling at him, and that was how it all started.

They weren’t friends. Perhaps Claude wanted them to be - or perhaps, Dedue came to realize years later, he had simply wanted to spend time around someone who carried some of the same burdens as him. Even if they didn’t talk about it. Even if they didn’t help one another.

Claude came to the kitchen, and Dedue quietly showed him where the spices were kept, how to safely cut vegetables. He was good at learning, careful, observant. His skill at cooking itself was much more variable, with some spectacular failures and some surprising successes. In the end, Dedue began to suspect that Claude came merely to sample his dishes, rather than make his own. But he did not mind.

They weren’t friends. But, perhaps, they were something.

  


* * *

  


“Ah, this really is incredible. I knew it would be.” Claude’s compliments are never empty - he eats the meal Dedue cooked without a moment’s hesitation, with glee and gusto. He always does. 

The words are flattering but Claude’s appreciation is even more so. He picks out new flavors, remarks on them, asks how something was made even though they both know he isn’t going to attempt to replicate it himself. It’s a simple pleasure for the both of them, and Dedue allows himself to enjoy it.

“I caught the fish this morning,” Dedue says, a smile touching the corners of his lips. “While you were asleep.”

“You mean you were slaving away while I slept in?” Claude grins. “I take horrible advantage of you, Dedue. You really shouldn’t let me.”

Dedue watches him across the table, gaze softening. “It has never been a burden to me. You give me far more than that.”

Claude’s grin doesn’t falter, he’s too practiced for that. But Dedue knows him well enough to see the little tells - the way his cheeks flush, just a tiny bit. How he finds it difficult to meet Dedue’s eyes for a moment. He finds sincerity hard to face at times, and once before he admitted that Dedue’s was especially so, because when it came from his lips he knows it is not flattery, not empty words.

Dedue has always remembered that. Claude has spent most of his life on shifting sand, scrambling for survival, for the upper hand. But for Dedue, loyalty has always come as easily as breath. His fealty will always lie with Dimitri, his fallen king, but Claude was the one who gave him reason to live on. He thinks, sometimes, that Claude deserves to be reminded of that.

  


* * *

  


It was after everything that Claude found him. After Gronder Field, when he could not save Dimitri. After Enbarr, when he was able at least to carry out his lord’s final wish. After Nemesis rose, and Claude beat him back, and a final victory was found.

Except that for Dedue, it did not feel like a victory. It felt only like an ending.

He had intended to follow Dimitri anywhere. To the end of the world, to hell itself. His loyalty belonged to his prince, and though he knew that Dimitri had lost himself, had fallen to the madness that had haunted him for years, that made no difference. 

But with Dimitri gone, and Edelgard dead, Dedue found himself quite without purpose. That was when Claude found him.

He never knew how, but it didn’t matter. Claude was clever, Claude had not earned the title of ‘Master Tactician’ by _not_ knowing where all the pieces on his chessboard were. Dedue had intended to disappear, fade into anonymity - or as much as was possible for a man of Duscur - but it seemed Claude had other ideas.

He was at an inn near the border between Faerghus and Adrestia. A meaningless border now, with all the lands united, but none of the people thought that way yet - nor would they for some time. Dedue noticed that much, though in those days he moved through the world in a bit of a haze. He was eating without thought, spooning stew into his mouth without tasting it, when Claude settled across from him.

He was dressed simply, standing out no more than any traveler. He smiled at Dedue, and Dedue stared at him.

“I was looking for you,” Claude said, even though that was obvious, even though there was no other possible reason for him to be in that small inn in that small town. “You disappeared after Enbarr. I was really hoping I’d get to talk to you again.”

Dedue contemplated saying nothing. He wondered how long it would take Claude to get bored and leave. But in the end, he still could not find it in himself to be so rude to the man who had helped him achieve Dimitri’s final wish. The man who had ended the war. “I had no reason to stay.”

Claude didn’t contradict him. Instead he just made a soft _hmm_ noise and said, “What are you planning on doing now?”

Dedue had thought about it, of course. He’d thought while he walked, while he made his way from Enbarr back to Gronder Field, to the place where his lord had fallen. His body had been retrieved by the others who had followed him, and he would be buried in Fhirdiad. Dedue had not yet decided whether he would visit that grave yet, or whether Gronder Field would always be the end for him.

He’d stood before that place, the last time he’d seen Dimitri alive, and he’d quietly told Dimitri all that had come to pass. Enbarr, Edelgard’s death, and what came after. He had mourned - would still mourn for some time. But in truth he knew he had been mourning for years. He had known there was no way to draw Dimitri away from his path, and he had known that it would almost certainly lead to self-destruction. If not in battle, then when his goal was achieved and he lost what had driven him, and was forced to face all he had done in pursuit of that goal.

He would have followed Dimitri anywhere, but Dedue had never allowed his loyalty to blind him. Now that Dimitri was gone, he would mourn, but his path would take him elsewhere. To where his heart laid.

“I will return to Duscur,” he said, setting down his spoon. He found he had little appetite. “My countrymen have suffered for years. Perhaps I won’t be able to do anything, but I will try.”

He had hoped, for so many years, to see Dimitri on the throne. He had known that Dimitri would help them, that he shared Dedue’s desire to restore his people’s home, end their suffering. Now he had lost that hope, along with so many others, but he would never give up on his people. Even if he did not know what welcome he might receive. Even if part of him feared he no longer belonged there.

Claude nodded. He looked unsurprised. “I was hoping you’d say that. How about you take a quick detour first? Come to Garreg Mach with me for Byleth’s coronation.”

Dedue’s brow furrowed. “Byleth’s? You are not taking the throne?”

“Nope,” Claude said, and when he met Dedue’s eyes Dedue was reminded vividly of the boy Claude had once been, the boy who had come to the kitchens and worked next to him, the boy who had understood some of his burdens without ever needing to ask. His eyes were sharp but distant, and within them Dedue saw an emotion so familiar it shook him.

Homesickness.

“I’m going back to Almyra,” Claude said, and he smiled.

Almyra.

It wasn’t a surprise, not really. Dedue had always known that Claude was an outsider like himself - the only question had been where he’d come from. He had known, too, that Claude had wanted to keep it a secret, and Dedue was not in the habit of digging up secrets that people did not want to reveal. So it had never mattered to him where Claude was from, though he’d heard others whispering over it sometimes.

It was no wonder he’d wanted to keep it a secret. Almyra, Fódlan’s ancient enemy. No one would have trusted him if they’d known, certainly not with the power he’d ended up holding. Power that had ended a war.

Dedue held no prejudice towards Almyra himself, but he thought Claude already knew that. How could he? He knew the lies that had been spread about his own people, and he had no way of determining if the things said about Almyra were truth or only more lies. In such a situation, Dedue believed it was best to assume nothing. He knew all too well the consequences of blind hatred.

He said nothing, only nodded, and Claude’s smile widened for a moment before he continued.

“I want to talk to Byleth about the rest of the world - Brigid, Sreng, Dagda, Almyra. But Duscur especially. I think it would be better if you were there. It’s not _my_ country, after all.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “But I think it’s past time you all got your home back.”

The thought of it. The weight of those words on his heart. It was too much - Dedue had to flinch away at the impossibility of it, because hoping hurt.

“Duscur is part of Faerghus now,” he said. “It will be part of a united Fódlan. Is that not what you wanted?”

“No,” Claude said, simply and easily. He leaned back. He wasn’t smiling now, but his eyes were still bright. “Do you really believe it’s part of Faerghus?”

There was a challenge in his words, casual as they might seem. Dedue had been so careful for so long, keeping his thoughts to himself, sharing them only with Dimitri in gentle ways. But what did it matter anymore? What would Claude do if he spoke the truth?

“I do not,” he said, and simply saying it felt - freeing. “It was taken from us. It was stolen, and will still be stolen regardless of who claims it as their own. Faerghus or Fódlan, it makes no difference. It is ours, and always will be.”

Claude nodded. He didn’t look surprised. He looked pleased instead, and Dedue wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Then come with me. Byleth is… Byleth is a great person, a good friend. But they’re blind to a lot of things about the world. Tell them about Duscur, about your people. They’ll understand if they hear it from you.”

Dedue had no doubt that Claude would also be nudging their future ruler in the direction he wished, the one that led to more communication with the outside world, to peace, to embracing differences. If he were a noble, he might care about Claude’s clear intention to guide the land he was not planning to rule. But he wasn’t. He was only a man who had lost everything he loved and who saw in Claude, in that moment, a chance.

“I will,” he said, and Claude’s smile returned, bright and beautiful.

The next day, they left the inn together and journeyed to Garreg Mach. One year and seven months after King Byleth’s coronation, over many objections and no small amount of anger from Faerghus nobles, the occupied land of Duscur was returned to its people.

  


* * *

  


Dedue has not had many partners, but he thinks Claude would be one of the best regardless. In bed he’s creative, passionate. He’s just selfish and shameless enough that he’ll tell Dedue exactly what he wants, and giving enough that he always makes sure they’re both satisfied.

Being the focus of Claude’s attention is heady enough in everyday life. In bed, it can be overwhelming. 

He’s inside Claude, deep inside him. Claude is so tight around him, tight and hot and impossibly good. The first time they did this he was afraid he would hurt Claude, who is so much smaller than him. But Claude only laughed and said he wasn’t worried, that indeed he liked a little pain in his pleasure sometimes. Dedue knows that is true now, and it doesn’t bother him anymore. Claude knows his own limits better than anyone, knows what he wants and needs.

He moves, pulling out and thrusting back in, and beneath him Claude gasps. His body arches against Dedue’s, his legs tighten around Dedue’s waist.

“Harder,” Claude says, breathless and beautiful. “I want all of you.”

 _There’s nothing more gorgeous than you giving in to pleasure,_ Claude said once. Then he’d taken Dedue in his mouth and shown him exactly what he meant, teasing until Dedue could do nothing but give everything over to Claude.

He does that now. It’s what Claude wants - it’s what they both want. He grips Claude’s hips, thrusts into him, fucks him hard. It’s too good, the picture of Claude beneath him, the sounds he makes, the way his clever tongue never quite stops, always urging Dedue on, asking for more, telling him how good he is, how perfect.

With Claude’s voice in his ears and Claude’s body tight around him, it’s easy to lose himself in that pleasure, the slick slide of it, Claude’s hole gripping at him when he pulls back, Claude’s cock - as lovely as the rest of him - dripping. He finds a rhythm, fast and hard, and it builds, it crests until he’s coming inside Claude, filling him.

He won’t allow Claude to bring himself off, even as pleasure arcs though him. He wraps a big hand around Claude’s shaft instead and it barely takes more than a couple strokes before Claude is coming too, coming with Dedue’s name on his lips.

It feels impossible that he has this, sometimes. Claude in his bed, his arms, his heart. He could not have imagined that they would end up here, but somehow it had come to feel almost inevitable. As if their lives were drawn to each other, as different as they were.

But Dedue knows that in truth it was a choice. It was a choice that they both made, that they keep making over and over.

  


* * *

  


The Almyran delegation arrived in Duscur with little fanfare. It was not a large group - a collection of people with wyverns, accompanying a couple of ships. Duscur, newly restored and still in a precarious political position, did not merit pomp and circumstance from Almyra, a large and rich nation.

But as Dedue waited at the dock for their arrival, he could not help acknowledging the truth: that Almyra had not needed to send a delegation at all. That they had no need to acknowledge Duscur’s independence - indeed, that doing so would anger the remaining anti-Duscur faction within Fódlan. He could not help wondering if it had something to do with Claude.

It had been nearly three years since he’d seen Claude. Three years of work, laboring to secure his homeland and then to rebuild it, and there would be more. It would take more than his lifetime, he thought, to truly make his home safe again. He was more than willing to do it. It felt good to have something to work for, and it felt even better to see the changes that were being wrought. To see his people coming home, rebuilding, growing stronger.

He’d found that after years spent among the people of Fódlan, one of his most useful talents was his ability to speak to those of other cultures. Not just Faerghus, their closest neighbor, but the former territories of Adrestia and the Alliance, and further. Brigid, Dagda. Almyra. Most of his countrymen had a healthy distrust of foreigners now, and Dedue did not begrudge them that - they had all learned a bloody, permanent lesson. Dedue could not have said he trusted them, either, but he was more willing to conceal that, to set it aside in order to create the connections, treaties, and trade agreements that their small country would need in order to flourish.

Brigid had sent only one envoy, some time ago. Dagda had replied to letters, but not yet sent anyone. Dedue was certain they were biding their time, unwilling to openly acknowledge Duscur until they were certain it would not sour their relations with Fódlan. A canny move, but an infuriating one.

But here was Almyra, treating them with the courtesy due a sovereign nation.

The ships were docking, lines thrown out to secure them. The small wing of wyverns circled above, descending to the open shipping yard Dedue had ordered cleared for them. He approached, readying what few words of Almyran he knew - surely they would have sent someone who could speak to them, whether in Duscurian or the tongue of Fódlan, but greeting them in their own tongue would start things off well.

But as he approached he heard a familiar laugh, and then Claude was launching himself easily out of the saddle of his wyvern, landing on the ground as if it were nothing.

“Claude,” Dedue said, his formal greeting falling away in the wake of his surprise. He had not expected this - had heard no word from him since they’d parted after Byleth’s coronation. And the wyvern he rode was not one Dedue would have recognized, not the fierce white beast everyone knew was Claude’s particular mount. 

He caught himself a moment later and bowed in greeting as the other riders dismounted. The formal greeting fell from his lips easily, a promise of safety and comfort, a welcome in Almyran and Duscurian. Claude responded to the greeting prettily, his words as gracious as Dedue’s own. His Duscurian came less easily than his Fódlan, but that he spoke it at all was - well, not such a surprise, really. This was Claude von Riegan, after all. 

All the while, Claude smiled at him.

They didn’t have a chance to talk immediately. The members of the delegation aboard the ships needed to be welcomed, and all need to be settled in their rooms at the finest inn in town - still a far cry from what they were no doubt used to. There was no opportunity to speak to Claude alone until that had been accomplished. In truth, Dedue expected Claude to need time to settle in as well. Trade discussions would begin in a few days, and surely the Almyrans needed to prepare.

But he seemed to be wrong about that. He was only a few steps from the door of the inn when he heard footsteps behind him, and then there was Claude.

“Good to see you again,” said Claude, as easy and casual as if they were old friends. Dedue was not sure what they were - perhaps that, in a way. Perhaps something else.

“You as well,” Dedue said. “I did not know you would be coming.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d be able to,” Claude said cryptically, “but I really wanted to see Duscur. I’ve been paying attention - keeping track of all the work you’re doing. Finally I get to see it in person.”

He grinned, and Dedue simply looked at him. Of course Claude had been receiving information about Duscur - Dedue found that he would have been more surprised if he _hadn’t_ been. Still, it felt like he was missing something, and he wasn’t sure what.

“I can show you the town,” he said, setting that thought aside. “If you aren’t weary after your journey.” There was always more work to be done, but Dedue could set it aside for a few hours, particularly for one of the Almyran ambassadors.

Particularly for someone so familiar and so strange.

“Would you?” Claude said, brightening. “That would be great.”

And so they walked through the town. It was not large, still in the process of being rebuilt and resettled, but it was the best natural port in all of Duscur. Kleiman’s men had put the original settlement here to the torch and replaced it with their own outpost, and now the people of Duscur were taking back what had been theirs. Dedue could see what it would be one day - a true port city, bustling and lively, welcoming trade and visitors. He wanted that very much, and he did not hesitate to say so.

Claude nodded. “Well, hopefully our arrival will be the kick in the pants everyone else needs. Trade is vital to growth - and I know your people have plenty of things that the world could benefit from.”

Dedue was certain that Claude knew the state of things. Fódlan was the only country that openly traded with them, and that was fraught on all sides. They needed it, but most of his countrymen hated that they had no choice but to accept aid and connection with the land that had nearly destroyed them. It did not matter that it was Faerghus who had attacked them, or that Faerghus was now simply part of Fódlan.

He could not blame them. He felt that same anger, that same desire to turn his back on those who had harmed them. It was only his long years in Fódlan and his respect for Byleth, combined with the knowledge that the king truly wished to do nothing but help them, that made it easier.

But this would open the door to more, he thought. It was surely due to Claude’s influence, and the thought of that brought up a number of other questions. He glanced at Claude, handsome in the dimming evening light, and wondered what pieces of the puzzle he was missing.

“I was surprised to hear your countrymen call you Claude,” he said, bringing his gaze again to the road they walked. “I did not think that was an Almyran name.” His Almyran was limited, but he had been able to understand that much at least while listening to the delegation speak among themselves. 

He had also noticed a pause before doing so, as if they were unfamiliar with that name. It was curious.

“It’s not,” Claude said, and grinned at him. “I asked them to call me that while we were here.”

It could be as simple as that Claude believed this name would be easier for Duscurians, but somehow that explanation felt wrong to Dedue. “Your wyvern, as well - has something happened to your usual mount?”

Claude laughed then, and shook his head. “You’re too observant, Dedue. Here, let me give you the last bit of strangeness: I won’t be staying for all the negotiations. I’ll only be here for a few days, then it’s back to Almyra for me.” His eyes were bright as he looked up at Dedue.

“I see,” Dedue said. It did not answer everything, it did not put the pieces into a form he could recognize, but he thought he could see a shape coming into view. “You have duties there.”

“I do,” Claude said. 

“Duties that require you to come here as Claude, rather than - whoever you are in Almyra.”

“I always knew you were smart,” said Claude, and he laughed, a bright sound. “It really wouldn’t do to have Khalid, King of Almyra, coming along on a simple trade delegation to a country that’s still viewed as politically unstable.” He shrugged. “If I thought it would have helped you, I would have - but as it is, it would make people think you’re some sort of vassal state, or that we have too much of an interest in Duscurian affairs. So I’m here just as Claude, on a borrowed mount. My wyvern is _way_ too recognizable.”

King of Almyra.

This _did_ surprise Dedue. He had guessed that Claude was more than a simple ambassador, and certainly that he was a noble of some kind - that had been clear enough even back at Garreg Mach. He was too easy around nobility to have been a commoner’s son suddenly elevated to noble Riegan heir. But Dedue had thought that Claude might serve Almyra in a way similar to Dedue - a minister of foreign affairs, or something similar. Something that would put his keen mind to work, combine it with his desire to reach out to the rest of the world.

Well. He supposed _king_ did that as well.

“I see,” he said, because now he did. Now the puzzle fit perfectly. And he felt something else then, something he had not expected.

Pleasure. He was pleased that Claude had secured the throne - surely not an easy thing. He was even more pleased, though cautiously, that Claude had kept Duscur in mind even through all the concerns he no doubt had to attend to.

Enough to come here. Enough to see Dedue’s homeland for himself.

“Then you must surely have pressing business in Almyra, and can’t stay long,” Dedue said.

Claude sighed, performatively disappointed. “Just a few days. They start getting restless if I’m gone longer.”

Dedue nodded simply and made a decision. “Your time must be used well. What would you like to see while you’re here?”

Claude turned to him, and his smile was brilliant in a way that Dedue had no defense against. He wondered when that had happened. “I want to see all your favorite places.”

And so Dedue showed him. After his initial formal greeting of the delegation, and a few events here and there, he was not needed for the first few days of their visit. They would be meeting merchants and members of the elder’s council that governed Duscur - Dedue’s presence would not be necessary until the terms of their future trade agreement began to be decided.

Even if the Almyran delegation had wished for his presence, he doubted they would begrudge him for escorting their king about instead. Now that Dedue knew who he was, he could see the way the others regarded Claude with mingled respect and either awe or distrust, depending on the person. It seemed they had both traveled rocky paths to reach the positions they now held - Dedue also had become accustomed to a certain amount of wariness from his countrymen after his years at the side of Faerghus’ prince.

But he received none of that from Claude, and in return he tried to give Claude the same - tried not to second-guess his motives or doubt his words. It came easier than he might have expected. At heart, Dedue believed Claude was an essentially good person, compassionate and determined and kind. That he sometimes liked to make others believe differently was his own business, and nothing that Dedue concerned himself with. 

Claude, it turned out, was an excellent companion. His unabashed curiosity, his desire to know everything he could, had been tempered somewhat with age and the demands of leadership, but as soon as he realized that Dedue would not take his questions amiss, he did not hesitate to ask them. And if they ventured too close to something difficult, and Dedue declined to answer, he never took it personally.

They didn’t stay in that port town. Claude was happy to fly wherever Dedue wished, and though Dedue was not certain he would ever get used to wyvern flight, he found that he did not hate the way Claude’s smaller form pressed against his while they were on wyvernback. He guided them through the hills of Duscur, and found also that it was both gratifying and pleasant to show someone his favorite things about his homeland. Even more so because Claude seemed so pleased, so happy to see them.

They talked, of course. Claude talked of his travels, his return to Almyra, his rocky path to the throne. Dedue spoke of the rebuilding of Duscur, his hopes for his people, the difficulties he knew would come.

They rarely spoke of the past or the war. They didn’t need to - they had both been there, had lived through it. It was a common ground, but one that neither of them felt the need to explore. Dedue found it refreshing, as he did so many things about Claude.

It was then, he later understood, that they truly became friends. Without the specter of war and loss, without chains tying them to the past, they could both see each other clearly.

Dedue liked what he saw. He liked Claude’s cleverness, his compassion, his strong will. What Claude saw in him, he could not be sure - but it was clear enough that Claude saw _something_.

By the time they parted, by the time Claude mounted his wyvern once more to return to Almyra and his throne, something had changed between them.

“Can I visit again?” Claude said, looking at Dedue as if Dedue somehow had the power to tell him - the king of another country - no.

But Dedue had never been a fool. He realized then, looking into Claude’s green eyes, that he was not asking as a king.

“Of course,” he said. “You will be welcome here.”

Claude’s smile was as bright as the sun, and Dedue allowed himself to say what he had been considering, mulling over for the past day. “I will write to you.”

It was an offer, an outstretched hand, and Claude saw that for what it was too.

“I’d like that,” he said. He didn’t say goodbye. He only clasped Dedue’s arm, smiled up at him, and then he was mounting his borrowed wyvern and winging his way towards the horizon.

Dedue watched him go.

He thought, with a spark of bittersweet pain, that he had once wished to show Dimitri his homeland. He had never gotten the chance. Claude was not a replacement for Dimitri - could never be such a thing. There was no one who could take Dimitri’s place in his memories or his heart, and Claude was something different entirely.

And yet he believed that Dimitri would have been happy for him. For this. Happy that Dedue had found peace and belonging, happy that he was allowing himself to find friendship as well. That he was not allowing the weight of failure and loss to drag him down, to keep him from building new things.

Duscur. The connections he was making there, quietly budding friendships, respect and honor. Claude, who was not closer than his Duscurian friends but who understood him in a different way, who carried the war and all that came with it just as he did.

Perhaps, somewhere, Dimitri _was_ happy.

  


* * *

  


Dedue’s bed is warmer and infinitely more welcoming when Claude is in it. He doesn’t always sleep easily, but neither does Dedue, and neither of them resent being awakened by the other.

When Claude’s mind is too busy to sleep, or when the dark dreams that sometimes plague him drag him to wakefulness, he used to slip out of bed. He would go for a walk in the darkness of night, put distance between them. _I don’t want to wake you_ , he said to Dedue with a smile.

But Dedue has learned the truth of things, over the years they’ve spent as lovers. Now he wakes, pulls Claude close. It is no imposition for him, and though Claude has never said it in so many words, what truly wakes him is an inability to feel safe.

That he feels safe enough in Dedue’s arms to find sleep again is remarkable. Unbelievable, at first, but now Dedue knows that if Claude wakes gasping from a dream of hands around his throat, Dedue can pull him close, can remind Claude where he is - far from anyone who might harm him.

Sometimes Dedue wonders how Claude handles this when he is alone in Almyra. He has never asked. He knows the answer, really: that he handles it alone, as he handles so many things, and the thought of that makes Dedue’s heart ache.

On Dedue’s bad nights, Claude tells stories.

There’s something about his voice, the softness and rhythm of it there in the dark with his arms around Dedue. The stories themselves matter less - Almyran folktales, legends from the Alliance, a few supposed children’s stories from Brigid. They’re distracting and pleasant, but it’s Claude’s voice that grounds him, Claude’s presence that reminds Dedue where he is. He’ll drift back to sleep listening to Claude, reminding himself of all that he has built.

They help each other through those bad nights.

But tonight is a good night. Tonight Claude’s arms are around him, Claude is curled against his back. Dedue is drifting, moments from sleep, content and sated from their earlier activities. Even so, he has the presence of mind to be thankful, to appreciate each moment.

Sometimes it feels inevitable that they found one another. Sometimes it feels impossible, like this might all be just a dream, like it could have slipped through his fingers so easily. And it might have, but Dedue doesn’t regret catching hold of it - catching hold of Claude.

There are many regrets in his life. He does not think that will ever be one of them.

  


* * *

  


Dedue wrote, as he had said he would. At first he wasn’t sure what to write - he had never been much of a talker, and letters were no different. His first letters to Claude were brief, businesslike. Descriptions of the work he was doing, the progress Duscur was making. 

Claude’s letters back were more creative. He talked about Almyra, of course, but he often went on entertaining tangents about the nobles in his court, the latest bits of gossip, or simply something funny he had heard. He talked about his interests too - history, the contraptions being designed by the Royal Engineer Corps of Almyra. His letters were long and witty, giving Dedue a glimpse into what Claude’s life must be like.

He began to look forward to receiving them, and he also began to open up in his own. He talked of his hopes for the future, and his regrets from the past. He wrote of Dimitri and his other companions from the Blue Lions, his ambivalent feelings, his growing friendships in Duscur. 

He found himself being more honest than he had ever expected to be, but somehow with Claude it was easy. Part of it was that Claude was not there - Dedue did not have to look him in the eye while confessing that guilt over Dimitri’s death still haunted him. Part of it was that, on some level, he knew that Claude would understand, and also that he would keep Dedue’s confessions close.

Part of it was that his own honesty seemed to draw something out of Claude. Perhaps, he thought, Claude had needed to see Dedue’s vulnerability before he could open up. Dedue did not mind that - Claude had held his secrets close all his life. That he was opening up at all felt exceptional.

But Dedue could see that for Claude, it was likely the same. Dedue was a safe person to share his thoughts with, a safe person for honesty. He would not share Claude’s secrets, had no desire or reason to use them against him. And as they grew more honest with one another, they grew closer.

Dedue had friends there in Duscur, men and women who shared his wish for their home. He had a place, and he was finally beginning to feel as if he might truly belong there. Even so, his correspondence with Claude filled a need that he had not even realized was there, not until Claude began to provide it for him.

And then Claude came to visit.

He had wondered if it might be strained, awkward after all they had shared. But he should have known better - he should have known _Claude_ better. From his first easy smile as he slid off his wyvern, everything moved so easily into place.

Speaking to Claude in person turned out to be just as easy as letters had been, and far more immediate. Dedue was able to watch him thinking, see the light in his eyes and the smile on his lips when he came up with something that pleased him.

Seeing Claude in person like that, it was almost inevitable.

Dedue had long known that Claude was a handsome creature. He had known for some time, too, that he was not immune to that. How could he be? He knew Claude - his intelligence, his strength, his heart. And worse, Claude knew him as well, accepting Dedue’s guilt, his uncertainty, his fears. He’d pushed back against them in his letters, saying he understood, that Dedue had done so much, that he should never forget all that he’d accomplished. All that he was.

It had meant something to Dedue. And when Claude arrived in Duscur again, that meant something too.

It was an escape for him, a moment away from the demands of kingship. But it was clear, also, that it wasn’t just that. It was clear that he had come for Dedue as well. As friends, perhaps, but not just that.

Dedue took Claude to the house he’d built. He showed him the land, the rolling hills, the river that ran nearby. He cooked Claude dinner, and enjoyed Claude’s unstinting praise, for all that it felt like an indulgence.

And then Claude said he wanted to see the stars over Duscur. How could Dedue say no? 

It was there, under the stars and the waxing moon, that Claude looked up at him. By then Dedue knew what he wanted, and though Claude had always been hard to read, he thought he might know what Claude wanted, too. It was a choice, a suspended moment in time, and Dedue could have stepped away - could have put distance between them, settled into a friendship, never anything more.

But that wasn’t what he wanted. It hadn’t been for some time, and if there was anything that Claude’s letters had convinced him of, it was that he was allowed to want things for himself. 

Not for Duscur. Not for justice. Not for Dimitri’s memory.

Just for _him_.

And he wanted Claude. He had for some time, possibly longer than he had or would ever be able to admit to himself. But in that moment, with the stars shining down on them and Claude looking up at him, he knew exactly what he wanted, and he let himself want it. He let himself have it.

He slid an arm around Claude’s waist. Claude was so much smaller, slim enough that one arm was enough, short enough that Dedue needed to lean down to press their lips together.

He did. It was incredible.

Claude’s mouth was hot under his, and his arms came up to slide around Dedue’s neck. He pressed close, stood on his tiptoes, kissed Dedue with everything he had. There was no shyness, no hesitation, only desire and an aching affection that Dedue had hidden from himself for far too long.

He took Claude to bed that night for the first time, and it was everything he’d dreamed of. Claude was demanding and giving equally, wanting to be pleased and making sure Dedue was as well. He asked for no more than Dedue wanted to give, but showed that he would take more, that he wanted everything he could get. He was not shy, was not anything but attentive and eager and beautiful.

It was the beginning of something that Dedue realized he had wanted for a long time.

  


* * *

  


“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Claude’s wyvern stirs restlessly, ready to be off, ready to wing its way back to its home. But Claude lingers, as he often does, because parting doesn’t seem to get easier no matter how often they do it.

“Not this time,” Dedue says, and tugs Claude closer for a gentle kiss. He has been to Almyra before. He likes it - he likes how different it is, and he likes to see Claude treated with the respect he’s fought so hard for. But it isn’t his home, and there’s so much work for him to do here.

Claude leans into him, warm in his arms. They don’t worry over the future - someday perhaps things will be different, perhaps they’ll end up in Almyra or Duscur, together. But both of them know well that the future is always unwritten, that they can’t be sure what will come. These stolen moments together are, for now, more than enough.

“I’ll see you soon,” Claude says when he pulls away. He says it with a smile, though neither of them knows what _soon_ means. Until then, they’ll have letters and memories of each others’ warmth. Perhaps for some people that would not be enough - for Dedue, it is more than he ever expected.

The first time he kissed Claude, he did not truly realize that it would be the beginning. If he thought of it at all, it was that it might happen once and then never again - the distance too great, the demands on them too heavy. But he knows Claude better now, knows that Claude has never cared about what should be possible - only what he can make possible.

And so they’ve come together again and again. He has gone to Claude, or Claude has come to him, and they’ve given each other peace and belonging and a love that neither expected. Dedue knows when it began, and he thought he knew when it would end, but he is beginning to understand that if neither of them wants an ending then it simply will not happen.

That knowledge gives him a quiet, pure joy.

“Fly safely,” Dedue says, and he lets Claude go. He watches as Claude mounts his wyvern, as he rises into the sky, as he begins his journey. Soon he will see those wings in the sky again, flying back to him instead of away, and perhaps if they are both very lucky, someday they will return and never leave.

Dedue isn’t in a hurry for that day, but he will welcome it if it comes. Until then, what he has is more than enough.

He watches until Claude’s wyvern is a speck on the horizon, then gone. And then he allows contentment to settle upon him, and he returns to his work, holding love in his heart.


End file.
